


Massage Package Eleven

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-28
Updated: 2008-08-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: "While you're there, see if you can schedule Massage Package Eleven."





	Massage Package Eleven

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: Alternative universe, total fantasy (or is it?)

 

 

Spoilers through end of series; possible spoilers for “Holding Hands on the Way Down”

 

 

Note: the Ventana Inn and Nepenthe are real places in Big Sur. Massage Package Eleven exists in rumor and legend under various names, but Arun and Chandra are figments of my imagination and I have no knowledge that such a treatment is available at Ventana Inn.

 

 

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul.

 

 

Feedback and criticism always welcomed.  


* * *

**3:30 PM PDT, Friday March 3, 2017; California Route 1, south of Carmel-by-the-Sea, north of Big Sur**

CJ eased off the brake as she came out of the curve. She glanced in the rear view mirror, noticing that the car behind her was still following at a respectful distance. Good. She was comfortable with her speed and was glad that apparently the other driver was okay with it as well. Of course, the highway was taking an inward jag as it approached the little town of Big Sur, where she and her husband would be spending the weekend at Ventana Inn, so she needn’t be quite as careful as she had been for the past twenty or so miles.

Speaking of Paul, she glanced over at the man sitting in the passenger seat and smiled.

“We should be there in a half-hour, sweetheart,” Paul said as he stretched and returned her smile. “Excellent timing.”

“You know me too well. You knew exactly how much time we could spend at lunch in Monterey, and how much to visit the old mission in Carmel.”

And thank you for letting me drive today, CJ thought to herself.

Unexpectedly, CJ found herself comparing how Paul and Danny dealt with her driving the Mustang.

In the beginning, Danny had reluctantly accepted the fact that she was going to drive her “baby” on a regular basis, but not without a fair amount of grumbling. After the incident in ’10, and an argument brokered by the man now sitting beside her (“CJ, Danny, I prefer the term ‘intense discussion’ to fight or argument”), she and Danny had compromised, agreeing to keep the car for use only when he was with her. However, by the time Danny was diagnosed, CJ had been taking the Mustang without him on occasion, usually when she was doing things with the other women on the block (but never with Paddy). Although Danny seemed to give in on that point, he was very conservative about where she could drive, even when he was with her. For example, Danny would never have let her drive the coast highway southbound, where the road sometimes came perilously close to the cliffs down to the ocean.

Paul, on the other hand, had been gently but irrevocably adamant from the beginning that she was not to drive the convertible unless he, Randy, or Derrick were in the car with her. However, once the passenger seat was occupied by himself or one of his surrogates, Paul had no fears about her driving. (“It’s your safety in a car with a soft, easy to cut top that concerns me, sweetheart, not your skill set.”) Paul not only had no problem with her taking the wheel for the final leg of their journey, he had even dozed off for about fifteen minutes – a reaction, perhaps, to the wine he had consumed with their lunch.

Actually, CJ realized, it shouldn’t surprise her that she should think of Danny on this trip. After all, when Paul first mentioned that Derrick had made plans for the inn that he would not be able to use and that Paul had accepted the offer to use the reservations, she did experience a moment or two of concern. However, she had quickly told herself that it had only been that one week during their trip when she was carrying the twins. For that matter, the night in San Francisco – when her red-headed husband had in one breath told her that, had John Hoynes been unmarried during the Bartlet administration, Danny could easily have seen a relationship between the Vice-president and the President’s press secretary, and in the next breath told her that he would have fought anyone and everyone, mortal or immortal, to win her for himself - that was the memory that meant the most to her from that time. Indeed, when Paul had indicated that he had been planning a weekend honeymoon in the city (before Derrick and Deborah gave them the week in Calistoga), she told him “as long as it’s not the Fairmont.”

So, observing Paul’s attempts to contain his enthusiasm for the idea of the trip when he had asked her if she had any problems with it, CJ had quickly sublimated any apprehension and plans were made.

CJ was trying to remember if she had ever told Paul that she and Danny had stayed at the Ventana. Well, it was too late to mention it now. The last thing she wanted to do was put a damper on the next forty-eight hours. Between the start of the new terms at Berkeley and at PSR, her final work on defending her dissertation, the kids’ winter colds, and Joe Dawson’s mild heart attack (which necessitated a trip back East for Paul), there had not been much time for romantic interludes since Christmas. (Not that **that** ever stopped either of them from making the best of less than optimal circumstances.)

Also, CJ realized that although she would always love Danny, would always miss the man who pursued her for eight years and possessed her for six, she was also becoming accustomed to not having him in her life and becoming accustomed to having Paul there. Last month, when Dansha’s bronchitis kept her from going down to Santa Monica on the anniversary of Danny’s death, she arranged for flowers to be sent to the grave, went to Mass at Mary Mag, and spent extra time after the service in quiet contemplation after lighting a candle for Danny. A year ago, she would have been distraught at being torn between her daughter and her first husband.

I’m happy, CJ realized, as she heard again the soft breathing that indicated Paul had dozed off. Yes, I miss Danny and yes, I miss our friends in Santa Monica. But I really don’t miss the bit of a spotlight in which he and I continued to live – the work for Frank Hollis, Danny’s prizes. I think that had he not died, we would have drifted into the type of life Paul and I now have. Danny would have gone whole hog into teaching, and I would have backed away from running “Road”, maybe taking a seat on the board like Frank and Sarita want me to do later this year, maybe even being “just a wife and mom”. So the happiness I feel now with Paul, I would have felt with Danny. Oops! That’s the entrance to the inn just up ahead.

CJ figured she must have braked a bit too strenuously, because Paul started out of his nap and strained against his seat belt.

“We’re here,” CJ said, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about the sudden stop.”

“I’ll survive,” Paul laughed. “Let’s go find out what all the fuss is about.” He let himself out of the car as the valet opened CJ’s door and asked for the keys to the trunk. Within seconds, a bellman was taking their bags and escorting them into the main building.

**4:15 PM PST; Ventana Inn, Big Sur, CA**

“Chrissie, this is Rafe. I need to speak with Jim or Martina. There’s a major plumbing problem in Mr. and Mrs. Reeves’ room.”

“I’m sure that they will take care of this immediately,” the bellman said to CJ and Paul, then returned his attention to the phone.

“Jim, I’m afraid that the room we’ve assigned to Mr. and Mrs. Reeves is not habitable. The shower is running and we would have to shut off the water to the bath.” Pause. “Got it. I’ll meet you there with Mr. and Mrs. Reeves.” Pause. “What’s that again? Oh, thank you for letting me know.”

Rafe hung up the phone. “Dr. Reeves, Mrs. Reeves, we will be moving you to another room. If you will follow me, the assistant manager will meet us with the keys.”

The young man picked up the bags and led CJ and Paul down the hall and to the elevator. “We’ll be going to another building,” Rafe said as he pressed the button.

Fifteen minutes later, CJ and Paul were in their new room.

“They’ve upgraded us,” Paul said, as he took in the fireplace with its sitting area and the wet bar.

“Indeed they have. Come in here,” CJ called from the bathroom. “We’ve got a double tub.”

“A Jacuzzi?”

“No, just a soaking tub, but still.”

CJ was extremely happy with the events of the afternoon. The original room was right next to the one that she and Danny had used when they were here nine years ago.

The assistant manager had apologized for the inconvenience and hoped that the alternate accommodations would be satisfactory. Then he reminded CJ and Paul that the complimentary wine and cheese hour would be ending “at five-ish”; perhaps they would like to go down to the lobby and unpack later. They could ride back to the main building in his golf cart.

“We’ll just grab our suits,” Paul said. “We were planning on a swim before our dinner reservation.”

**6:15 AM, PST; Saturday, March 4, 2017;**

CJ stretched; reaching down with her legs, her feet touched the bottom of the bed and pushed against the sheet and blankets that were tucked under the mattress.

With her eyes still closed, she took in the sounds of birds greeting the new day and the sounds of surf hitting the rocks in the distance. With her eyes still closed, she took in the scent of the smoldering embers in the fireplace, the scent of the herbs wafting through the open window, and, of course, the scent of the man against whom her body rested.

CJ slowly opened her eyes and grinned at her first sight of Paul’s face, peaceful in slumber and with a slight smile on his face. She knew from experience that it was a smile of satisfaction and she grinned again, remembering the events of the previous day that were no doubt responsible for that smile.

At the wine and cheese hour in the lobby, the two of them engaged in light conversation with their fellow guests. At the end of the reception, they headed for the heated pool (When asked if they were going to the “clothing optional” pool, Paul merely smiled and said that he and CJ would leave that for another time. Once out of earshot of the man who asked the question, Paul told CJ that he silently added, “when you aren’t around to leer at my wife.” CJ laughed, but also said that she would prefer “leaving public nudity to women who haven’t gone through four pregnancies.” Paul replied that there was “nothing wrong with your body and that’s why I’d rather not have other men ogling you.” They laughed together and ended up walking to the “clothing required” pool arm in arm.)

Two hours later, CJ and Paul were sitting on the terrace outside the onsite restaurant, enjoying _kirs royale_ and crudités while waiting for their table. They ate somewhat lightly (she had the chicken, he the risotto), splitting a salad and a dessert. Dinner was followed by a walk of the grounds. When CJ shivered in the post-sunset breeze, Paul took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Later, back in their room, Paul lit the fire that had been laid by the staff and whose embers still faintly glowed in the pre-dawn semi-darkness. Then he slowly, gently, and reverently made love to her on the luxurious bed. It was as if they were reliving their very first time together.

CJ moved her leg and brushed against Paul’s groin. Looking down, she saw evidence that if her husband were dreaming, his dreams were very pleasant. She weighed the idea of cupping that erection, but didn’t want to wake Paul.

“Go ahead, sweetheart, it won’t bite.”

CJ looked up and saw that the smile on her husband’s mouth was now reflected in his open eyes.

Three minutes later, CJ sighed as she parted her legs and Paul came over her, murmuring against her neck how much he loved her, how much he thanked God for her.

**3:44 AM, PST; Sunday, March 5, 2017** ;

Paul fought against the invasion of the outside world into his mind. It was dark, it was quiet. The bed was warm and soft and the body beside him was warmer and softer.

The body beside him was also moving; any lingering desire to slip back in unconsciousness disappeared as Paul reacted to that realization.

Opening his eyes, Paul looked over to CJ. In one second, he relaxed as he recognized that her movements were not those of distress but of sexual enjoyment. His wife was having an erotic dream. In addition to her movements, she began to make sounds that left no doubt what was happening to her in sleep.

In their forty months of married life, Paul figured that there had been about eighteen similar occasions. Given the events of the previous day, the fact that CJ was experiencing such a dream now was testament to her sensuality.

After their early morning intercourse, CJ and Paul fell back asleep for about an hour. Following breakfast in the lobby, they took part in a nature hike led by one of Big Sur’s long-time residents.

They drove to Nepenthe for lunch and browsed in some of the little shops for an hour or so before returning to the inn and a couple of hours in the pool and the hot tub. Then it was time for their massage appointment.

Two weeks ago, when Paul had mentioned to Lee Hotchkiss that he and CJ would be going away for this weekend and where they were going, the retired Berkeley administrator told him, “See if you can sign up for Massage Package Eleven with Arun and Chandra." When pressed, Lee only smiled and told Paul to pursue the matter.

Paul and CJ had been given a bottle of “preparatory solution” to be used in their room’s soaking tub; they told to relax in it for twenty minutes before their appointment “but don’t consume any alcohol for at least two hours beforehand.”

At 4:30, dressed, as instructed, only in the Egyptian cotton robes that were in their room, CJ and Paul opened the door to a middle-aged couple pushing a cart full of paraphernalia. Arun introduced himself and his wife as he set up the two massage tables in the room.

For the next hour, Arun’s fingers, hands, and fists oiled, kneaded, massaged, and soothed every square millimeter of Paul’s body other than his genitalia while Chandra’s did the same with CJ’s. Paul had never been so relaxed, so loose, and yet so acutely aware of every little square millimeter of his skin. It was as if he could sense each individual cell on the surface of his body.

At the end of the hour, Arun spread a thick cotton blanket on the bed and the masseurs wrapped the Reeves’ bodies, mummy-style, in pleasantly scented strips of cloth and told the couple to lie on the bed while the equipment was packed up and the cart moved outside the room. After twenty minutes, the winding cloths were removed and the robes draped over their shoulders and tied around their waists.

“As part of the package, your dinner reservation has been changed to room service. Simply call when you are ready, even if it is after normal hours,” Chandra told CJ and Paul. Arun and she gathered up the strips and the blanket from the bed and left the room.

Not one touch that Paul had experienced had been inappropriate, not even when Arun used the back of his forearm to gently shift Paul’s penis from the left to the right side of his groin. (And talking with CJ later, she confirmed that Chandra had not touched her in any way that could be considered sexual.) But within three seconds, before Paul heard the sound of cart being moved, he suddenly realized that he was harder, more engorged than he had been in a very long time, perhaps since his early twenties. His body, still very much aware of every molecule, was also suddenly very hot, very much needing to be pressed against that of his wife.

Paul looked over to CJ. He could feel the heat radiating from her body across the two feet between them. Her eyes were bright with desire and her hands were untying her robe; he followed suit.

Where he was diamond hard, CJ was swollen so much, it was like the first time she had given herself to him. But the glovelike fit was accompanied by incredible wetness, and his entry, though tight, was easy.

On his second thrust, Paul felt himself explode inside her. For a brief bit of a second, he cursed himself, but then he felt her spasm and clutch around him, heard her cry of pleasure combine with his, remembered hearing similar cries coming from another room yesterday afternoon, and now understood both the nature of the cries and why the inn strongly discouraged guests from bringing children with them. Right before blackness overtook him, he heard the ding of the elevator in the distance. It had been less than two minutes since the masseurs had left.

They woke simultaneously maybe a half-hour later, staring into each other’s eyes. They were lying on their sides, facing each other. Paul somehow managed to notice that it was about 6:30. His arms and legs felt like limp noodles, unable to move, but there was one part of him, still buried inside her, that was still not limp, still not tired, and still very much able to move.

This time, they held onto each other’s buttocks, making sure that each thrust was met solidly by the other’s pelvis. This time, it took seven strokes to reach mutual orgasm, but their cries of satisfaction still reached beyond their room.

At 8:00, they woke again, realized they were starving, and called down for room service. When the meal arrived, the porter handed them a small bag. Inside were another bottle and a note from Arun and Chandra. “We’ve added some items to your dinner requests. Take another bath between dinner and dessert.”

In addition to the steak and pommes frites, salad, and pinot noir that CJ and Paul had requested, there was a plate of chilled shellfish, a bottle of champagne, an assortment of pastries, and a selection of herbal teas to be used with the in-room coffeemaker/waterheater. They ate their dinner on the deck and, following the instructions, drew another bath in the double soaking tub.

This time, they engaged in foreplay for about ten minutes before Paul leaned CJ over the edge of the tub, her arms and head resting on folded towels on the ledge, and gently pressed against her buttocks and legs. This time, CJ climaxed once on his fingers before the two of them once again reached mutual satisfaction.

Paul lit the tinder and kindling under the logs in the fireplace and the two of them sat cross-legged on the bed, eating pastry and drinking more champagne and the teas. Finally, they made love a fourth time, with an orgasm that gently swelled and ebbed rather than exploding.

And now, several hours later, Paul smiled at the memory, realizing that he had never felt so physically satisfied. But apparently, CJ was reliving the evening.

Several times among those eighteen times in the past, CJ woke in the middle of her passion and the two of them made middle of the night love. For the other times, Paul would carefully and gently finger and palm her, making sure that his touches, while helping her to satisfaction in sleep, did not cause her to wake. His enjoyment came from knowing that she was being pleasured in her dreams.

So Paul stretched out his hand, ready to lightly caress, to provide firmness against which she could thrust and twist.

But something blocked his way. It was as if there were an invisible shield covering her. Paul thought he saw a pulsing difference in the darkness, as if another body were covering CJ’s.

“What the - ”, Paul thought, not quite believing what his hand told him.

Then the previously incoherent little sounds of pleasure became understandable words.

“Oh, God, that’s so good, Danny!”

Paul’s hand dropped to his side and he sat up.

“Get the hell out of my bed and don’t ever come back!”

Paul was sure he had shouted the words, but they did not wake CJ. However, Paul did have a sense of wind leaving the room. He cautiously reached out to CJ and his arm, unimpeded, draped across her waist.

CJ moaned again and twisted her body. One part of Paul’s psyche wanted to help her, but another part, more primal, more jealous, just couldn’t make himself do so.

So he lay there, a few silent tears escaping from his eyes, and watched as CJ’s own hand snaked between her legs and pressed up and in three times. She shook slightly.

Paul did not fault CJ for dreaming of Danny. He had dreamt of Alicia, sexually, over the years since his first wife’s death, including twice since his marriage to CJ. Dreams were involuntary, dreams were caused by multiple stimuli, and he hadn’t really thought about them, except in that they reminded him of a woman with whom he had shared so much. Now he wondered, did he also call out in his sleep? Had CJ kept similar situations from him?

CJ had apparently achieved some level of release, or relief, both physically and in her dreams, and had fallen back into quiet sleep. Sighing to himself, Paul gathered her into her rightful place against his side and under his arm, lightly kissing the top of her head. The warmth of her body and the steadiness of her breathing soothed him and he followed her into slumber.

“ _Ye shouldna done that, Danny,” Jem Ogilvie gently reproved the red-headed reporter. “CJ is Paul’s wife now, and it’s him that has the right an’ the duty ta see to her pleasure.”_

“ _You’re right, I know,” Danny answered, plopping himself down on the little cloud tuft next to Jem. “But it hurt so much, to realize that the two of them were in a place that she and I enjoyed together and that it didn’t seem to matter to her, to realize that I’m mattering less and less to her everyday.”_

“ _I ken it hurts, lad. It hurt me ta see Brianna wi’ you, that first summer, relieving her needs and teaching you everything I taught her; and then Hugh, not only taking her to bed, but giving her his name and getting bairns on her body. But just as life isn’t always fair, neither is afterlife.” Jem turned to face Danny, his face tightly clenched with intensity._

“ _And it’s not that you matter less,” the Scotsman continued, “it’s just Their way of helping her to deal wi’ the loss, to live out the life They want her to have. Do ye really want her to spend the next twenty or thirty or more years with only her subconscious and her own hand to take care of her needs? And what about her other needs? Don’t you want a man there to see to the things a man needs to do, both for her and for your children?”_

“ _Of course I want her happy, of course I want the three of them taken care of. I picked the man, for heaven’s sake!” Danny responded._

“ _And what about Alicia? They’ve given you something not normally given to most of us who arrive first. Believe me, those twenty years waiting for Brianna were hard, and even now, even though I never want, or feel I have to wait, I know that just as she and I – well, I know that she and Hugh are also – well, again, Danny, you are blessed indeed.”_

“ _I am, aren’t I?” Danny looked down to Big Sur, to the woman sleeping against the side of the man to whom he had entrusted her._

“ _I’m sorry, Jeannie, and I’m sorry, my friend. I’ll never do that again.”_

_Pistol came up and laid his head against Danny’s thigh. Even in heaven, a man sometimes needed the only friend who never found fault, never criticized._

CJ and Paul had already decided that they would spend Sunday morning leisurely and had arranged with room service for a 9:30 breakfast.

Paul woke first, about 8:15. He slipped out of bed, into a pair of sweats, and picking up his Bible and a throw, went out to the deck to read, pray, and meditate in the chilly early morning air.

Paul had already decided to put the incident out of his mind, and so when he heard the sliding glass doors to the deck open, he closed the Scriptures and looked up, ready to greet his wife with a smile.

However, the look on CJ’s face indicated there was something troubling her, something she needed to share with him.

Paul stretched out his hand to CJ and she came to him. He pulled her onto his lap, her feet on the glider beside him, and adjusted the throw to cover the both of them. He held her in silence, waiting for her to make the first move.

“I dreamt of Danny last night.”

Paul kissed the side of forehead, just on the edge of her right eyebrow.

“Dreams are involuntary, sweetheart. It has nothing to do with you or me. God only knows what might have sparked something inside you to think of him.”

“I didn’t just dream about him; I dreamt that he was **with** me, that I wanted him inside me. This place, he and I came here once, our first year, about four months before the twins - . The room was right next to the first one they wanted to give us. If the bathroom hadn’t been unusable - . I thought I had mentioned it to you before our wedding, but I must not have; and you were so excited about coming here.”

She pulled away and looked at him, silently asking for understanding.

Paul remembered. He smiled at her, stroking the side of her jaw.

“You did tell me, and it slipped my mind until now. Again, it doesn’t matter. And sweetheart, to be honest, you were talking in your sleep last night.”

“And you heard? Oh, Paul, I am **so** sorry.”

“It’s not important, CJ,” he said, pulling her back against him and once again kissing the side of her face. “But, CJ, have I ever done the same thing? Have I ever said Alicia’s name aloud when I was dreaming of her?”

“I’ve never heard you – wait, you’ve had dreams of Alicia, like last night, and you never told me?” CJ pulled back to look into Paul’s eyes.

Suddenly, Paul realized that he had been wrong. “Yes, sweetheart, I did. As I said, dreams are involuntary, and I knew it didn’t mean anything to you and me. But you are right, I should have told you. I’m sorry, CJ. Please forgive me.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.

“We’re fine, my love,” CJ reached back in and kissed her husband’s mouth.

There was a knock on the door. “Room Service!”

“ _So, how was it?” Danny greeted Alicia, who just returned from a field trip. She had spent three days with other women artists, sketching Orion, Hercules, and David._

“ _It was wonderful!” Alicia replied. “Anything important happen while I gone?”_

_Danny knew that sometime soon, he had to tell Alicia what he had done, but first he wanted to let her know how much she meant to him_

“ _I’ll fill you in afterwards,” he grinned. Then he took her hand and drew her toward Cassiopeia’s Chair. “I missed you.”_

CJ and Paul made love once more after breakfast and left the inn about noon. When they checked out, they were given a box. (Opening it in the car, they found a DVD labelled "Massage Techniques", bottles of massage oils and soaking solutions, an order form for more of the same, and a hand-written note suggesting "judicious use of the contents".)

Once again, CJ took the wheel and once again, they stopped for lunch along the way, this time in Santa Cruz.

“What a wonderful weekend,” CJ exclaimed. “I’m sorry Derrick had to miss it. I think he would have liked it very much.”

“I think Derrick would have been miserable,” Paul said. At CJ’s questioning look, Paul explained. “Derrick presumed too much, too soon. His relationship with Natasha has not yet reached the point where they would enjoy a place so geared toward intimate, loving couples.”

But when my son does succeed with his young woman, Paul thought to himself, I’m going to suggest that he spend his honeymoon here with her. And that he book Arun and Chandra’s Massage Package Eleven.


End file.
